


The Eye of a Hurricane

by BryWrites



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hotch Leaves, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Set after The Storm, Short Chapters, Vignettes, post season finale spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryWrites/pseuds/BryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a storm, not everyone is the same. But in the middle, for just a moment, there is calm. A chance to prepare for what's to come. A short series of introspective chapters set in the immediate aftermath of the season eleven finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Downburst

_There will come a time you'll see, with no more tears. And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears._

_Mumford and Sons, "After the Storm"_

* * *

_Chapter 1: David_

* * *

There are three things he believes in without fail: profiling, prayer, and the people he cares about. To get through this, he'll need all three, now more than he ever has.

After Aaron breaks the news, they go back out and try to act normal, pretend that their worlds haven't all just stopped turning. But it's forced, a clear farce. Soon after, the party comes to an end, and Rossi tries to busy himself with cleaning up. Wash dishes, put away utensils, rearrange the furniture. Anything to keep busy. The conversation can't be avoided forever though, and finally Hayden leans against the counter, a wine glass still in her hands, and looks hard at him.

"David, what's going on?"

"Well, at the moment I'm drying the spoons, and trying to listen to Frank Sinatra."

" _David_."

He turns to face her, silently begging her to do this. Hayden's gaze is unwavering, and he sighs. Exhaling the deepest of frustrations. "We've been informed of something… problematic. Last night's prison break was only the beginning."

She sets the glass on the table in favor of wringing her hands together. "What do you mean?"

What he means is that everyone he loves could be in danger. That the American public is now at risk. That the worst of mistakes has been made. "A number of supermax prisons have serial killer wings, to isolate them from gen pop. There were breakouts at all of them, and while security managed to catch most of them, there are still thirteen at large. Some of whom my team caught before. And some of whom could be out for revenge."

Hayden falls silent, her eyes wide. A few weeks ago, her life was normal, and now he's gone and dragged her into this mess. His world is a dangerous one, and all he wants is just a little piece of normalcy. Of happiness. She sighs and pours them each another glass of wine. Heaven knows they could use it.

"Will you tell Joy?" she asks.

"Yes," he says. "But not now. It's late, and I don't want her worrying about anything. It's unlikely that any of the unsubs will go after you or Joy." That can't be said for the average person though. Out there, somewhere, are countless people who match each killer's victimology. Some may not even survive the night. This night was supposed to be a happy one, but that light has been dashed with dreadful news. Darkness has a way of seeping into his life, brought on by his own choice of career.

Not that he can say he regrets it. It's hard to imagine doing anything else. Still, sometimes he can't help but wonder how much happier he would've been doing something else.

"I'm sorry to involve you in all this. If I had known, I never would've asked you to…" Rossi trails off, lost in the world of what might have been.

Hayden lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. "David, you couldn't have possibly known how this would turn out. But I get it now. Why it's so hard for you to walk away from this job." She smiles wistfully. "Those people mean a very great deal to you, don't they?"

"They're the closest thing I had to a family for a very long time," he admits. They still are a part of his family. Although he would never say so out loud, many of his fondest memories in the last decade have been with them. Solving the Galen murders, writing his latest books, finding Harrison once again, begrudgingly giving a cooking lesson at his mansion. They alone understand what he's seen, they share in the regret and the guilt and the nightmares. Without them, he would be lost.

"I'm surprised though," she adds. "You were never much of a team player before."

That conjures up images of his first case out of retirement, when Hotch lectured him about that exact thing. Rossi chuckles. "You're right about that. What can I say? They kinda grow on you after a while." Sure, he'll tease them, but it comes from a place of immense appreciation. He would never dream of intentionally hurting a member of his team. They've been through enough already.

When everything is back in its proper place, he finds an old Tony Bennett record, and sets it on the player. Music croons out beautifully as he extends a hand to Hayden. She regards him curiously, the act quite out of place from the last few hours.

"Tomorrow," he tells her, "everything is going to get crazy. But right now, there's a great record on, plenty of wine left, and the most beautiful woman in front of me. Dance with me, Hayden. Let me just have this. Let us have tonight, before I go back to the work world in the morning."

Shaking her head, she smiles and steps towards him. The chaos of the evening fades away when he holds her in his arms. The way he should've done so many many years ago.

 _You won't really fall in love for you can't take the chance_  
_So please be honest with yourself, don't try to fake romance_  
_It's the good life to be free and explore unknown._

The song surrounds them. Oh, they could've had a good life together. If only his pride hadn't gotten in the way, they could've been a real family. Instead he wrote books alone and his daughter was raised by someone else. There are things he's learned since then though, one of which being that it's never too late to start again.

They still could have a good life. Rossi kisses her forehead, lingering there a moment. He's not one for making deals, but he decides bargaining is worth a shot. If he makes it out of this mess – if they put all those killers away, he will do right by Hayden and Joy. When it's safe again, he will build that good life with them. So much he's already lost. Carolyn, Emma, James. He's not going to let the best thing in his life pass him by. Not this time.

There is a storm on the horizon. But if he can withstand it a little while longer, there is a good life out there too.

Those, he decides, are worries for another day. Tonight, he just wants a normal night. To dance with a woman he loves, drink a few more glasses of wine, and fall asleep with dreams of better days to come.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> This is just a short little series, looking at each of the characters "after the storm" and how each would react. Just something little in anticipation of Season 12.
> 
> * The song used here is Tony Bennett's The Good Life.


	2. Jet Stream

_Chapter 2: Jennifer_

* * *

Right away, Will knows something is up. She can tell by the way he looks at her when she walks out of Rossi's kitchen, by his quiet demeanor for the rest of dinner. To his credit, he says nothing at the party. Somehow he seems to sense that whatever it is, it's heavy, and he doesn't bring it up in the car either. It's only after Henry and Michael are fast asleep, and she's sitting on the edge of the bed in silence that he asks.

"Somethin's wrong, innit?" Will takes a seat beside her, setting his hand over hers. JJ manages to nod, trying to find the right words to explain this to him.

"There… there was a prison break. In multiple supermax prisons across the country. Thirteen serial killers have escaped." Her voice shakes as she speaks. It isn't the inmates she's afraid of, in over twelve years on the job she's seen much worse. It's what it means. Her family could be in danger – and not just her boys. But her team. Trying to track down the Dirty Dozen was hard enough on them, and that was just with one teammate to protect. Then Morgan almost lost Savannah and Hank. After that sort of year, they deserve a break. It seems they won't get one, though.

Just the opposite.

"People you've caught?" inquires Will.

She shrugs. "Some of them. The rest are new unsubs. We've got to find them, but there are still going to be regular cases coming in. God, there wasn't enough time to get all of them finished in the first place. All those people who need us, and…" Having been the team's communications liason, she knows how hard it is to triage mountains of case files. She could distance herself from it, the same way she detaches from victims in the field now. But that doesn't keep her from wondering if they've made the right choice. With double the workload, there will be more cases turned away. Ignored. Unsolved.

What are they supposed to do?

There has been enough loss this year, she doesn't understand why that long list needs to be added to. Just when she thinks they've found stable ground, the floor falls away and the world is turned upside down. Tonight has been no different.

"Will?" she asks. "Did I make the right choice?"

Still keeping a steady hold on her hand, he frowns. "Whaddaya mean?"

"This job. I thought I could do it, I thought I could be an agent _and_ a mom. But in just two days, I've managed to put the boys in danger twice." Guns pointed at them. Serial killers that could come after them. The chance that one day, their mother might not come home from work.

"JJ, listen. You love your work. That hasn't changed since I met you. I can't ask you to give that up. It's always gonna be your choice. And whatever you decide would've been right." Will's voice is gentle, words that caress her spirit.

Even so, her hands begin to shake. Tears spring to her eyes and she tries, _tries_ , to keep herself grounded. "I've always been in control of things. At work, I ran press conferences and kept the media in line. I know how to use behavior to track down unsubs. And I've been able to protect my family." She turns to face him, wide-eyed and visibly frightened. "But I can't control this. This is so much bigger than me, and I'm terrified."

He slides an arm around her shoulders to stop her from shaking, pulls her close to him. Will isn't as tall as some of her coworkers, but he is strong. Warm and sturdy. "I know," he whispers. "I know." That's all. No critiques, no ranting, no advice. Just understanding. Sometimes she thinks she takes him for granted, and it is moments like this that remind her just how much she appreciates him. And just how much he loves her.

Across the hall, Henry and Michael are sleeping soundly. How can she protet them? All she wants is to keep her boys safe. Michael is so tiny, so new to this world. He knows nothing of danger or evil. Innocent, that's what he is. Possessing an innocence that she so badly wants to protect. While Henry is older, he is still a child. Even when they're adults, she thinks she'll worry over them.

Is this how her own mother felt? Fretting over her daughters? Everything changed after Ros died. Her parents were so much more overprotective after that. Does her mother worry about her even now? Wondering if someday, some psychopath will cut her life short? To bury one daughter would be unbearable. To bury both would be unimaginable.

Perhaps it would have been easier if she stayed a communications liaison. Things were safer in that position. Distanced from the madness. Reporters are easier to wrangle than killers.

Those days are gone now, and no matter how much she might wish it, she can't go back. What's done is done. She can only move forward, doing her best to survive. When the world is too overwhelming, she makes a list in her head. It's a trick she learned from Spence, one that surprisingly worked. It calms her down. Reid, he memorizes all sorts of lists. Jennifer just has one.

A list of everything she has survived.

 _Rosaline's death._  
_The FBI Academy._  
 _The dogs at Hankel's farm. Reid's abduction._  
 _Shooting Jason Clark Battle._  
 _Henry's birth._  
 _Negotiating the release of Ellie Spicer._  
 _Being forced away from her team._  
 _Working at the Pentagon._  
 _A miscarriage._  
 _Emily's funeral._  
 _Becoming a profiler._  
 _Izzy Rogers._  
 _Nearly losing Will. Twice._  
 _Being tortured by Askari and Hastings._  
 _PTSD._  
 _Michael's birth._

When she remembers all that she's gotten through, it gives her the strength to carry on. To push forward.

But she's never done it alone. She's not now, though she has lost friends along the way. No loss has been felt quite as strongly as Emily's. Emily, who has always been so much stronger than her. What would Emily do? In a situation like this, Emily would kick ass. She would fight back, and put those killers right back where they belonged.

Emily who taught her how to fly, who made her into a blackbird.

There is much to be nostalgic for tonight. In the morning, she will have to call Emily, and let her know what has happened. Because some of those inmates were put in prison by Prentiss too. JJ has a duty to warn her friend. Deep down she hopes that it might convince Emily to come back, if only for a little while. She could use a little extra strength. A good friend. Someone to make her laugh.

She does have a good husband though, and she leans into Will's shoulder. There is safety in his touch, security in his voice. Familiarity is a blessing. All she wants are more days where family comes before fighting evil. Lazy Saturdays where she and Will are both home, and they make pancakes with blueberries and chocolate chips and Henry insists on putting sprinkles in his. For extra fun. Afternoons when they build blanket forts and play soccer and snuggle up on the couch to watch movies and eat popcorn. Evenings to press close to Will, to escape into their bedroom for a few hours of intimacy and bliss.

Those are the things she misses when she is away, and those are the things she will work so hard to protect.

There is a storm coming, she can feel it in her bones. As a kid, she was frightened of thunder, just as Henry is now. As a parent, she is the one to soothe those fears. No storm is stronger than a mother's love, and she will push away the clouds through sheer power of will.

Thunder is just angels bowling. Lightning is just the angels bowling a strike, and they all celebrate. Monsters are just in your imagination, and the good guys will always win. And after the rain, will always come the rainbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the chapter titles are all storm terms that correspond to the first name of the character featured in that chapter.


	3. Tornado

_Chapter 3: Tara_

* * *

 

How much her life has changed in the last year. A job gained, a fiancée lost. Friends made. Enemies made. And enemies set free.

At home, she sits down with a glass of wine and wonders how things ever turned out this way. As a psychologist she dreamed of studying serial killers up close in the field. As a profiler, she reprimands herself for being so naïve as to think that working in the field would be easy. To interview and evaluate inmates, you don't have to see their victims. You don't have to talk to grieving family members or examine mutilated bodies. Your judgment calls won't get another innocent person killed.

This job is everything she ever wanted. Every day is a new experience, and she's never learned so much in such a short time span. This job challenges her and it changes her, but in the best of ways. Tara has lost Doug, yes. But looking back, she knows it would have never worked out. She loved him, but not enough to give up her work. And he loved her, but not enough to understand her. She _deserves_ someone who understands.

What of Ennis? Months ago interviews with Leonard Ennis were just another routine part of her research and responsibilities. Now, she can't help but rethink everything. No longer can she make recommendations and then forget. Because she never once considered the possibility that after their last session, she would see a killer again. Or worse, that one could escape. Now there are thirteen on the lose.

Tara sighs, takes a long drink of wine. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

Much like last night. Much like Antonia Slade. The woman whose words continue to haunt her. There are a thousand worries going through her head right now, about the escapees, about her own safety. Right now, she's certain that all of her team members have their own concerns, as any sane person would. This is the difference for Tara: she knows she can handle them. She is capable and brave, and she has managed to take on some of the most difficult situations. Survivor, that's what she is. And she isn't about to go down without a fight.

Still, she knows that she has less to lose than some. With no children and no significant other, there is nobody else she has to protect. There are friends and family members to warn, just to keep them aware. Even now she is trying to decide how much they need to know. Doug's status is uncertain in her mind still. Is he a friend? Or are their ties permanently cut?

How inconvenient, she thinks. To have to contact Doug now. Doing so implies she still cares for him, and those are feelings she hasn't taken the time to sort out. The love is gone, that's undeniable. But does she care enough to tell him what's going on with her life and her work? Honestly, psychopaths can be so inconsiderate. Not only does she have to get in touch with Doug, but she'll have to completely rearrange her research schedule. If not postpone the studies completely. The BAU is going to need her full and undivided attention.

As much as she tries to make light of it in her own mind, she is nervous. One minute, she's laughing with her newfound family and feeling like she finally belongs, and the next she's discovering that everything she knows has changed. Too many times in her life has the rug been pulled out from under her feet. For as long as she's been alive, Tara has fought tooth and nail to get where she wanted to go. None of it came easy to her, but this is bigger than any obstacle she's faced. And it's not just about her either. Stories have been told about the team's history. Many of them have had personal contact with some of the most ruthless killers, and some of them have suffered unimaginable losses as a result. Being the most recent addition to the team, she hasn't had any such experiences. It can't be easy, to know that the same face haunting your nightmares could now be free from prison.

What ghosts haunt her?

Her father, for one. The truth of what _really_ happened in Germany, a story she isn't yet ready to tell to her team. The possibility that she'll be alone now that Doug is gone. After all, how many failed relationships can one have? Rossi has had three – though after his reconciliation with Hayden, perhaps that number should be amended to two and a half. Two for Hotch. As for the others, she hasn't asked. It's more than likely they've had their fair share of difficulties.

In many ways she still feels like a newcomer, almost an outsider. They've welcomed her with open arms, and have been more kind than she could have possibly imagined. Yet there are still secrets they hold onto. Things she was not privy to in their past, and things she isn't ready to dig up from her own history. Not that she doesn't trust them. She just needs more time to find the right words.

Despite her experience, she has a wealth of knowledge to apply. She can only hope that it will be enough.

Tara trades the glass in her hand for her cell phone, though she keeps the wine within reach. It takes her a few minutes to steel herself, trying to prepare her heart and her patience for what she knows she needs to do. After all, he was closest to her. And if any escaped inmates are those she once interviewed, any who know of her previous engagement, it could be an issue. Swallowing her pride, Tara dials his phone number.

It rings a few times. Then, _"This is Doug Fuller. You know what to do."_

Voicemail. She rolls her eyes, tries again. This time there is no ringing. _"This is Doug Fuller. You know wh-"_ Oh, now he's intentionally ignoring her. Her blood burns, and she exhales slowly in an attempt to keep her emotions in check.

 _I'm trying to warn him, and this asshole has the audacity to ignore my call._ After all, by this point he should know that if she's making the effort to call him _multiple times_ , there must be a good reason for it.

After a third unsuccessful attempt, she gives up, at least for the time being. Let him get held hostage by a psychopath, if that's how he wants to be! Tara reaches for the wine again. How did they get here? There was a time, not too long ago, when they were happy. Both of them, together. She used to love coming home to him, adored spending time with him. And she used to make him happy.

And that used to be enough. When did that stop being enough?

Maybe it was when her job came first. Maybe it was when he started making outrageous, controlling demands. Maybe it was when she took the position at the BAU. Maybe it was when he started drinking more. Or maybe, maybe it was never enough. Maybe there were cracks right down to their foundation, and she never saw them until it was too late. Love makes people blind that way.

In such a short time span, so much in her world has been altered beyond repair. And now, she finds herself in the center of a storm, one she isn't quite sure how to approach.

Tara remembers a thunderstorm in Germany. She was on her way home from school, walking through the streets when the skies above opened up and poured out a barrage of rain. Everyone else ran for cover, children scrambling for the safety of their homes, terrified of what the storm might bring. But not Tara. She stood in the middle of street, her arms stretched wide, laughing and spinning in circles. The others, they thought her to be crazy, the girl who grinned in the face of a dark sky.

What they didn't know was that storms brought with them a certain sort of power. When she stood outside in the raging wind, stared defiantly back at the lightning, she harnessed that same strength. The world shook, and Tara Lewis laughed, realizing that in all that chaos, she felt nothing less than unstoppable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the newest member of the team, Tara is the hardest to write for, but she is nothing if not fierce. I can only hope I've done her justice.


	4. Pulse Storm

_Chapter 4: Penelope_

* * *

 

Her world has always been digital. She lives between screens and lines of code, it’s where she feels safe. This past year, that security was stripped away by the Dirty Dozen, by hitmen – and hitwomen - who sought her out in retribution. Now, she feels once again incredibly exposed by the news the have received.

It’s easy for her to hide behind the guise of witty banter and flirtatious jokes, but what she can’t bring herself to admit is that this job terrifies her.

She is afraid that someday, an unsub will take too much away from them. She is afraid that the monsters living under their beds will come back for them. She is afraid that she’ll lose someone – really lose someone – out in the field. After Emily, she’s not sure she could handle it. Because when Emily walked through the roundtable room door once again, it seemed that maybe, just maybe, they really were invincible. It’s her worst fear, that someday her team, her little family, will go out into the field. And they will never come back. Garcia can’t bear to imagine being the lone survivor of the BAU, but she’s the only one who would still be at Quantico should something happen.

The screens and the internet used to make her think she was protected. Bit by bit that shield has been falling away, revealing all to clearly the cracks in her armor. It began when Randall Garner hacked her system. Again when Jason Clark Battle managed to attack her in the real world, where she let her guard down. Time and time again, be it George Foyet or Ian Doyle or the Dirty Dozen, she has realized that security is really only an illusion they sell themselves. It helps to bury the painful possibility that their chosen professions will cut their lives short, and burn empty spaces into their hearts. She can’t bear the thought of empty spaces where people used to belong.

It’s why she finds herself at the Morgan’s doorstep so late at night, hoping that she hasn’t woken up little Hank. But it’s Morgan who answers the door.

“I got your text,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Can I come in?” she asks. “This might take some explaining.” They settle in on the living room couch, and she begins her story over again, explaining in a hushed voice exactly what was so urgent that it couldn’t wait for morning. When she’s finished, Morgan sits there in silent shock.

“Do you know who it was?”

“Not yet. We haven’t been able to identify all the escaped inmates. Only Peter Lewis. Derek, I’m so sorry.” There are dozens of people who would very much like the opportunity to hurt the man before her.

He sighs. “What do I tell Savannah?”

“You tell her the truth. And then you tell her how good your team is. Tell her that nothing is going to happen to her, or to Hank.”

Derek looks at her long and hard. “Garcia, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to make promises I can’t keep.”

In their line of work, there are too many variables to guarantee much. Garcia takes his hand. Morgan is strong, his hands calloused and rough. For years this man has been a pillar of strength, someone she could rely on. The closest thing this world has to a superhero. Her white knight in a black leather jacket. “This one you can. No matter what happens, you’re a part of our family. And we will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Nobody is going to hurt you, or them.”

“I’ve missed your optimism.” Morgan puts an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him, wishing she could borrow some of his courage. “How are you holding up, Baby Girl?”

She’s nervous. Terrified. Confused. “I’ve been better. It’s weird, how one minute you’re just going about your day, and then suddenly your whole world changes. Why is that so easy? Is it just because of our job?” Too many times she can recall days where a morning began perfectly, and by evening she had reason to be in tears.

“When that happens, it’s not always a bad thing. Think about all the times something good happened. Like when you got this job, or met a friend, or ran into Sam again. I mean, I never expected to end up falling for Savannah. But look how much my life has changed for the better?” To emphasize his point, he makes a sweeping gesture around the room. Selfishly, she thinks that it would be better if he was still with the BAU, but she knows in her heart that _this_ is where Derek Morgan belongs now. In a home, with his wife and his child. And he’s happy, which is all she has ever wanted for her best friend.

“Now who’s the optimist?” she jokes.

It is tempting to stay there, in that warm house, so full of life. But it’s late, and she has work to do. With one last hug, she departs, arriving at her quiet apartment with a furious determination. No time is wasted, she gets straight to work. Two computers, a laptop, and one of her cell phones are all turned on, and she sits down with a cup of coffee long enough to keep her going.

The others will go home, they will sleep, and they will prepare to fight again in the morning. Not her. This is her battleground, this is where her strengths lie. Tonight, she is the soldier in the trenches, building up fortresses to guard her closest friends in. There will be enough digital data to keep them all safe and sound, and she won’t rest until that safety is absolutely guaranteed.

It begins with the digging of dirt. Garcia flies through prison lists at lightning speed, weeding out any that don’t have a serial-killer-specific wing. There is a list of eighty-nine possible targets, and she compiles them into two separate groups: those arrested by the BAU, and those were captured by less stellar crimefighters (for in her mind, nobody can possibly come close to her beloved behavioral analysts). Then, each list is ranked in order from most dangerous to least dangerous.

For each of her computers, at home or at Quantico, she completely updates the security system. She programmed massive overhauls after the fiasco with the Dirty Dozen, but this time she updates her _updates_. There is no precaution she can afford to overlook. They’ve been hacked by unsubs before, and she will not risk their safety over her coding skills. When she’s finished, it would put even Steve Jobs to shame.

New search software is written, new malware is added, everything technical is completely revamped. It’s incredibly late – or early, depending on one’s standards- when she finally feels satisfied, and she powers things down for the time being. The caffeine is having trouble overtaking her exhaustion now, so she makes her way to bed, finally slipping out of her party clothes at last and into comfortable pajamas. Her room is full of cute things; flowers and pictures and glitter and stuffed animals. Surrounding herself with beauty helps to remind her that the world is good and people are kind. Despite what her work tells her, the earth is not populated with monsters.

Garcia fumbles for her phone, her tired fingers struggling to type out one more message. _Call me when you can. It’s important. I love you!!!_ She inserts a few heart emojis for good measure, then sends the text message to Sam.

There is a storm building in the distance, one that doesn’t just exist inside a screen. The wind and the rain are real, and they scare her. Garcia longs for the sun, not the dark. But she has harnessed the power of lightning before, and she will do so time and time again, commanding electricity with the click of a keyboard, until her world is upright and shining once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't leave out Morgan.


	5. Supercell

_Chapter 5: Spencer_

* * *

 

He knows what will happen when they leave that party. The members of his team will hurry home, scramble to get in touch with the people they love. There are warnings to be delivered, precautions to be planned. Everybody has somebody to take care of. JJ has Will and Michael and Henry, her mother and her friends. Garcia has her boyfriend, her exes, her closest friends from support group. She’ll be the one to tell the Morgans. Rossi has his recently rediscovered family, Hotch has all the people he’s related to. Tara has her colleagues and her ex-fiancé.

Who does he have? Nobody.

After the party, he drives home in silence, realizing how completely isolated he is in this world. Who would he call? His father is so far estranged from him that nobody would pay him much attention. His mother lives in a psychiatric hospital, safe as she could be. Besides, she might not even remember him in a few months. His only friends are his coworkers, all very capable of defending themselves. And the one person he loved is already dead.

Reid pulls sharply into the parking lot of his building, throwing the gear into park as tears begin to blur his vision. In the quiet privacy of his car he breaks down, sobbing until his throat stings. It’s getting late, so he swipes the sleeves of his shirt across his eyes and hoists his bag over his shoulder, hurrying into his building with his gaze on the floor. Inside his apartment, he falls onto the couch, curls up into himself.

He is utterly, completely alone.

And it’s awful.

All his life he’s been different. Intelligence isolates a person. To others, he was a machine. A robot incapable of feeling – feeling love, or feeling hurt. Sometimes he was a tool, a means to an end for someone else to get what they wanted. He’s gotten used to being the butt of the jokes. He knows that when others look at him, they think, _well at least I’m better off than him._

A tormented, awkward, recovering addict who may or may not lose all his memories. When you’re a genius with an eidetic memory, those memories are all you have. They’re who you are. Nobody on the team has lost quite so much: both parents, his sanity, his first love. Once he overheard Morgan comparing battle scars on the plane, but when it comes to psychological wounds, Reid takes the cake.

When people look at someone like him, they rarely see the loneliness. They don’t understand how much he craves connection, how much he _needs_ to be wanted and _wants_ to needed. Every day he sees people who take their loved ones for granted. There is a couple that frequents his favorite coffee shop, and more often than not they are ignoring each other for some reason or another. Petty squabbles, smartphones, work, social media. He wants to run up and shake them, scream at them. Don’t they know how lucky they are? He would _kill_ to have just one person who loved him.

Okay, perhaps that’s not the best phrase, considering his profession.

But while he loves his team, it isn’t quite the same. At one point or another, they have all found a love that goes beyond even the deep, familial friendship forged at the BAU. They’ve all been married or engaged or in a long-term relationship. One in which they could _see_ the other person. He wants that. Is it too much to ask? There are times when he closes his eyes, and he is plagued by something far worse than nightmares. It’s a recurring dream of his, never exactly the same, but always incredibly similar.

In that dream, he comes home from work. Up the same stairs to his same apartment. Inside, however, he finds it occupied. There is a woman in the kitchen, and she hums softly while making tea. He never sees her face, but somehow he knows instantly who she is. As though his heart recognizes this stranger, whose outward appearance changes from night to night. He knows it’s her. So he walks up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist. Kisses her hair. The woman laughs, a musical sound, and without turning around reaches one hand up to caress his cheek. _Welcome home_ , she says. _I missed you_. He responds in kind, savoring the happiness he feels just from being close to her. And then there is the sound of running footsteps, and he turns to find a child hurrying towards him. Sometimes it’s a boy, sometimes a girl. Like the woman, their face changes. And like the woman, he knows instinctively who they are. _Daddy_ , they call, hugging his leg. _Daddy, you’re back! Will you come read me a story?_ The child holds up a book, and he of course obliges, following them into the living room. With a smile, he looks back towards the kitchen to make sure the woman is still there –

And then he wakes up. In a painful reality, where he is reminded that he has no wife, no child. Having that happiness dashed is excruciating. He wants to return to a world where he isn’t alone, but he cannot live within a dream. All he can do is attempt to make it a reality, but with each passing year that seems less and less likely.

Reid looks around his empty apartment. It’s full of maps and books and chess sets. Things that are useful. Things that cannot welcome him home or hold him. He’s not doing anybody any good by wallowing in his misery, so he forces himself up to find some notebooks and pens. Sitting down with old case files, he begins to go over every last detail. Connecting unsubs and developing plans, trying to determine exactly who is the greatest threat.

While the rest of his team has people to protect, he will at least try to protect them. He can’t afford to lose anyone else. To lose another protector. His mom, Elle, Gideon, Emily, Alex, Kate, and Morgan. All gone.

It’s his turn to be the protector now.

Because if he can’t be happy, he’ll fight to his last breath to make sure they _are_.

He glances back at his coffee table. On the top of a small pile of books sits _The Narrative of John Smith_. It’s first page still bearing Maeve’s handwriting. _“Love is our true destiny.”_ If that is the case, what is his destiny? What could his future possibly hold? He’s thirty-four now, with every year it becomes less and less likely that he’ll find that sort of love. And so instead he throws himself into his work, hoping to at least make enough of a difference that his life will mean something.

As he works, reading and writing and fact-checking, memories surround him. They take the shape of trinkets and gifts, picture frames that are sporadically placed around his apartment. Alex’s badge, the baseball cap from the FBI/Secret Service game where all of Morgan’s coaching paid off. Hank Spencer Morgan’s birth announcement. Pictures of Henry and Michael, of all his team members – past and present. Gideon’s letter, and a chess set. The mug Garcia brought him back from London. The star puzzle Emily gave him, half in frustration.

Most assume he isn’t the sentimental type, but people often assume things about him that aren’t true. And it gets lonely living by yourself. This way, he can look around and see the people he loves – and the people he has lost – when he needs to be reminded that he is loved. No matter how alone he feels, there are people who love him. Maybe not in the way he craves. But they love him.

There is a storm coming.

And because he loves those people too, he will be prepared. It’s time to batten down the hatches and settle in. There are rough waters ahead, and even he can’t say for sure how long it will take to sort out.

But he’s studied storms – cyclones and twisters and hurricanes and blizzards. For each possible variation of weather, he has an arsenal of facts and solutions. He will study and he will adapt. If he has his team beside him, he can handle anything. They will not lose anyone else this year.

Every storm must subside sometime. Lightning can strike the same place twice, hurricanes can go off course, temperatures can plummet. But science has shown that there is a way to survive even the most difficult of storms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such a soft spot for Reid. Everyone else on the team has somebody, but he has no one outside of the BAU. Which just breaks my heart.


	6. Arcus

_Chapter 6: Aaron_

* * *

Hotch tries to keep the mood light on the car ride home. Jack is finally starting to smile again, letting him in a little bit more than he did the previous evening. He silently thanks Reid and Garcia for making Jack laugh at the party. For showing him that regardless of his opinion of superheroes, there is at least magic in this life.

Eventually though, Jack asks about the briefing. "Why did you have to leave for a few minutes, Dad? Do you have to go to work?"

Hotch hesitates, trying to decide how much to tell him. "No, I don't have to go in. But it is related to work. There are some bad guys who managed to escape prison last night. And they want my team to help catch them again."

"Oh."

"What is it?"

"Well, I guess you'll be really busy this year then. Trying to find them. I won't get to see you that much."

Crazy, how a simple sentence can sting so much when it comes from Jack. Unintentional hurt, of course, but it does hurt. If there's one thing Aaron Hotchner does not want to do, it's disappoint his son. Six years ago, he had the choice to leave the unit, and he knew what his answer would be. Because his son needed his hero, needed his dad to keep fighting.

Now, if asked the same question, his answer might be different. Jack doesn't need a superhero anymore. Jack needs a father. Steven Gideon, Joy Rossi, and Spencer Reid all missed out on having that same thing. While Joy had her stepfather to raise her, he knows without a doubt that Steven and Reid would've given anything to have a dad there to support them. Neither of those relationships ever really healed.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

Already Hotch can sense from the way Jack stares out the window that this is going to be a difficult question. "You've had bad guys escape before haven't you?"

"We have."

"And the last time that happened, they killed mom, right?"

Oh god. Not that. "Yes. That's right." _But this is different_ , he wants to say. But it's not. _Foyet was a psychopath._ But they all are, to an extent. And there's more of them this time.

"Oh. So what's gonna happen this time?"

"Nothing," Hotch replies adamantly. "Nothing is going to happen. Jack, you're going to be safe. I won't let anyone hurt you, or your Aunt Jessica."

"Yeah, but what about you? What if they hurt you this time?"

"I'll be fine."

"Okay. Sure."

Jack is distant the rest of the way home. He goes to bed as soon as they arrive at the apartment, with nothing else to say.

Hotch waits until he's sure his son is asleep, then quietly slips into his room. Drawings and paintings of superheroes and comic book characters cover the walls. A few family photos are on the nightstand, next to a clock and a graphic novel. In complete silence, Hotch pulls the covers up around Jack, and kisses his forehead.

"I love you," he whispers. Just in case he's awake. Just in case.

He returns to the kitchen, unpacks his things onto the table. And then he sits. Waits. Thinks. On the table sits his cell phone, and he tentatively picks it up and punches the first few numbers. Then, freezes. Is this what he wants? Is this the right choice?

When he asks himself that question, he knows the answer. And he knows what he has to do. He picks up the phone again. Dials. Waits.

"Cruz," comes the answer on the other end.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late at night," he says. "But there's something I need to speak to you about."

"Is this about the inmates? Look, Aaron, you don't have to take care of th-"

"That's not it," Hotch interrupts. "It's…" The words are harder to get out than he expected. It feels like letting go. And it is. The beginning of it, at least. "It's about my job."

He can picture Cruz now, sitting up straighter, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I would like to resign from the Bureau."

Nothing but stunned silence from the phone. He's stunned himself, but he knows this is what he needs. Jack is getting older, and while he might not need a parent around to help him with everything, he's going to need support. Hotch can see him withdrawing already, pulling away from him. The incident with SWAT has only made things worse. Jack lost his mom, and he can't lose his dad. This job will not make an orphan of his son, that much he will guarantee.

"Are – are you sure? It's late and you've been through a lot. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning, after you've had a chance to sleep," suggests Mateo.

Tempting, to push this aside, but he can't. "I'd be happy to discuss this further in the morning, but I've made up my mind. I need to be here for my son. I can't do that as an agent." His voice falling softer, he adds, "I lost my wife because of this job. I can't let my time with Jack pass me by too."

Cruz sighs. "I'll have to talk with the Director. I'm sure we can get you early retirement, but it might take a few days. Weeks even."

"I appreciate it. And please, don't mention this to my team."

"Of course."

 _My team._ Soon to be someone else's team. It doesn't make leaving any easier. There is a dull ache in his chest, and it's times like this he wishes the unit wasn't quite so close. It would be so much easier to walk away if they weren't like family to him. Every loss, every close call experienced by one cuts all of them deeply. They stand by each other and raise each other up, and without them he never could have gotten through his grief after Haley died.

Sometimes it's like he has other children. Older, taller children at that. But like Jack, those children have grown up too. Morgan has moved on, to be with his own new family. Emily is making her way through the ranks of Interpol. JJ has two young boys to take care of. Garcia is much stronger after the stress of the last year. And Reid – he can't help but look back with fondness when it comes to their youngest agent. Hotch remembers the first time Gideon introduced him to the genius trainee, still in the middle of his Academy training. Reid was tall, quiet, and painfully awkward. Incapable of hitting anything with his lousy aim, and unable to make friends. He's come a long way in eleven years. For each of them, Hotch feels a strange sort of pride.

And they have Tara now, a capable and bright addition to the team. Dave will still be there to provide leadership and insight. Who will run the team in his absence? He will fight as hard as he can to ensure there's nobody brought in from the outside for that purpose. Better to promote a current member of the team. Any one of them would be able to handle it with grace.

Someone will come along to replace Morgan, and someone will come along to replace him. Agents come and go, that's how it has always been. For years, all he has known is this job. The FBI was his whole world, all he ever wanted. He's fairly certain that more of his life has been passed at the office or in the field than in his own home. New things will come along to fill that gap too. He could return to practicing law, or take up golf. Move to New York and reconnect with Sean. Maybe he could find Beth, see if they could give things a second chance.

Perhaps this whole thing is a second chance.

There has to be so much more to the world than unsubs and profiles. Good guys and bad guys. For once, maybe he can just relax. Be a human being. Aaron, not Hotch. The man, not the unit chief.

The team will mourn his loss. He'll need to say goodbye to them, and he knows it won't be easy. They've already had more than their fair share of goodbyes. In his mind he rehearses each one, visualizes each reaction. Rossi will understand, even congratulate him. JJ will sympathize, perhaps get misty-eyed, and wish him the best. Garcia will insist on hugging him and stopping by with cookies, and maybe she'll try to convince him to stay, but she'll let him go in the end. Knowing he needs this. Tara will thank him for the opportunity and the job, and he'll miss seeing her continue to grow. Reid's goodbye might be the hardest. The kid has always hated goodbyes, and his abandonment issues run deep. It might feel like a betrayal to him from yet another father figure. But Reid isn't selfish, despite his own hurt, he won't stop Hotch from doing what he has to do for his family.

More than anything, he needs to protect his son. The one person he could never bear to say goodbye to.

When he watches Jack head off to school each morning, he wonders what his son will learn from him. What lessons will he teach him? He hopes that this won't seem like a failure, like giving up. This is protection. This is letting go of one thing he loves in order to better love something – someone – else. He wants to show him that bravery doesn't always mean fighting to the bitter end, but rather hanging on to the sweet things in life. He will show his son how to weather the storm, and more importantly, how to survive it. Above all, he will teach him that while rain will inevitably fall, the sun will always return.

No storm lasts forever.

Neither does any story. The clouds will go away. Life will go on. Beginnings will cycle into endings will cycle into beginnings.

The storm is almost over. And through the winds and rain, he can make out the beginnings of sunlight. Hope is just over the horizon. And tomorrow will be the beginning of a brighter day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began as a simple set of short character studies, but by the time I started publishing it, it had been announced Thomas Gibson would be leaving the show. It only seemed fitting then, to use the final chapter as a final farewell to Aaron Hotchner. I can only hope he'll be allowed to live, and that the send-off will be worthy of a character who has meant to so much to fans for 12 seasons. Of course, I get why TG couldn't stay, but I'll miss Hotch.
> 
> Enjoy Season 12 friends! Until next time.


End file.
